Will We Ever be Free Of
by Zsadist Cortel
Summary: Behind the scenes of the revolution, things aren't as they seem.  What are England and America really thinking and feeling? Revolutionary War drabbles that show the things we didn't see. USUK


**Summary: England had been in the room when his King received it and, though he could never say it aloud, he had never been so very proud of his America or so very sad. Was England really angry when America decided to become independent? **

_*King George's personal study – London, Late 1770s around Midnight*_

England cautiously entered the King's study. He had to be careful or he'd be caught and most assuredly punished for his impudence. Looking around carefully, he tiptoed over to the large wooden desk. England made sure to stay away from the windows. The guards outside might see him if he went too close. Kneeling down, England pulled out a small dagger and began to pick the lock on the desk's center drawer- the drawer that held documents that King George planned to destroy or not read at all. It was slow work as he was not able to light a candle and the moon cascading through the window's glass was the room's only illumination.

The lock on the drawer clicked open softly and England paused to listen for any sounds of footfalls nearby. Hearing none, he quickly shuffled through the stack of papers. "Ah!" England exclaimed softly, wincing as he realized he'd made a sound, finding the two sets of documents he had been seeking. He couldn't let his king destroy them. They might one day soon be symbols of the treasure he'd lost, but they were important to him...and to America, too. His beloved America. America, who was getting ready to leave him forever. Gathering the papers up, he gently hid them away in the inside pocket of his coat. Then England proceeded to replace the other papers in the drawer before locking it up once more.

One set of documents was years old already. It had been a final plea from America for compromise between his people and England's king ... the Olive Branch Petition it was called. Things could have been so different, if only his king had cared enough to read it. To listen to the people of America! If only he wasn't going to war with his sweet America. If only he wasn't about to lose the person he loved most. If only he could have protested that day...so many 'if onlys'. England remembered the day well. The day he saw it all begin to fall apart.

England had been in the room when his boss received it. If it had been his decision, England would have read it and then tried to work things out with his protege. Instead the monarch had only scoffed and refused to read the offending document, much less consider a compromise based on its contents. England watched silently as his leader tossed the papers into the drawer of his desk and locked it up as soon as it was received. The message was clear to all present. America's people would not be heard. America would not be heard. England could see it all start to crumble down around him the moment the lock clicked into place. His America would soon be lost to him, if not in body then surely in mind and soul. America would never forgive them, and England couldn't feel the need to blame him for it.

The second set of papers were newer, barely a few months old. It was a declaration. A declaration of war, of anger, of frustration, and most of all a declaration of independence. America had finally done it. He had declared his intention to break away from England. England wasn't all that surprised when it arrived. He had been waiting for it. The king had never suspected it would happen and England was just bitter enough to not say a word about it.. 'Let his majesty feel a bit of my pain when it finally arrives!' Had been England's thoughts. Truthfully he was astonished it hadn't come earlier, but regardless of when it finally arrived,...arrived it had. King George had been furious to say the least. He immediately ordered England to gather their troops and squash this rebellion post haste.

England, not in a position to argue, had nodded and begun to muster his army. He already knew he wasn't likely to win. He never had been able to win a war his heart wasn't in. And his heart was definitely not in this one. When it came down to letting America go so he could be happy or keeping America trapped under his rule, bitter and miserable, the choice was obvious. That was why he was here, breaking into his boss's office in the dead of night to steal documents from the king's desk.

It was the night before he and his army were to set sail for America's home...the night before he was to leave for a war against the only person he had ever loved in any way. England couldn't let his boss get rid of these papers. They may mean nothing to anyone else, but to him they would be something to cherish. They would be keepsakes of the boy he had raised, of the happiest time in his ridiculously long life, of the things he wished could be changed but had no power to fix. These would be his memory holders on nights, long after this one, where he lay crying in a poorly constructed tent on the eve of a battle he hoped he wouldn't win.

England clung to the shadows as he slipped silently out of the office and down hallways to his personal chambers. It was nearly two in the morning and he had a lot to do before the servants and the rest of the household began to wake up. Today was the day he had been dreading. Today he went to war. Today he began the only war he had ever planned to lose. Today, England lost his life. England lost his America.

Having safely reached his bedroom without being detected, England carefully hid the documents in a pouch of his own personal correspondences. They would be safe there for now. He also finished up some important paperwork and organized the last of his baggage. This done, England double checked that the door to his room was locked tight. It was. Sobs escaped him as he leaned back against the inside of the door, sliding down its length to the floor. Anguished cries fell from his mouth and hot tears burned his cheeks as they flowed freely for the first time since he had accepted Fate's will. His America would leave him and there was nothing he could do about it. It was already decided. England pulled a pillow down off a nearby chaise and used it to muffle the sounds of his grief. It wouldn't do for anyone to hear him, after all. No one could ever know. It was very undignified to be caught crying, especially if one was a gentleman and the representative of the British Empire.

If he was being honest with himself, England might even admit that he was proud of America. Proud that he was ready to fight for his freedom and stand on his own two feet. One day, America would take his place in the world. America would be greater than even England at his finest had ever been or ever could be. With his deep connection to the supernatural aspects of his country, England had always been good at knowing things like that. America would be the greatest of them all. England only hoped he would be around to see that day. He could also feel that his time as the world's largest empire was fast coming to an end. Whether it would kill him or what he would lose and when was yet to be seen. His own future was never as clear to him as that of the other nations he knew. England knew though, if it was America taking his place in the world, that he would be okay. He would gladly give his position to the sweet little boy he had raised. The strong-willed teenager he was to go to war with. The brave man that would one day rise above them all. His greatest treasure.

England fell asleep pressed against the door. Hours later, he woke with a start as the bells of Big Ben rang out loud and long. It was six in the morning. It was time to get up and go to the docks. It was time to go to war. It was time to lose everything.


End file.
